The Master's Apprentice - Oliver Potzsch Page 0,163

.

He shook himself and the memory vanished.

“Well, this is definitely not a heathen place,” he said quickly. “There is an altar. And look, there are even paintings of angels.” Johann led Margarethe deeper into the cave and pointed at some paintings on the ceiling. “They might be archangels. One of them is holding a sword. Perhaps the monks from Saint Michael discovered this cave a long time ago and used it as a chapel and hiding place whenever war raged in the land.” He squeezed Margarethe’s hand and held the torch so that he could see her face. She squinted against the light. “Margarethe, the . . . the angel spoke to me again, in my dreams. He wants us to be happy together.”

“Oh, my dear Johann! Don’t make it so hard for me.” She returned the squeeze of his hand, and a wave of desire went through Johann. She was so close and yet so far.

“If I were a free woman, believe me, I’d do it,” she said with a sad smile. “Yes, I think I’d go away with you. But I’ve placed my fate into God’s hands.” She squeezed his hand again, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong. But I’m sure that what we’re doing here is a sin.”

“How can it be a sin if we love each other?” asked Johann hotly. “You’re a novice, Margarethe. You haven’t taken your vows yet. You are free to leave the nunnery anytime you like.”

“And then? I’m afraid, Johann. Afraid of what’s happening in the world out there. I’m afraid of the boogeyman.”

“Do you remember the last time we were in a cave?” whispered Johann. “Back in Schillingswald Forest in Knittlingen. It was the last wonderful moment before our world collapsed. Now we’re inside a cave once more—the circle is complete, and all will be well from now on.”

He kissed her on the lips, and unlike with the last few attempts, she didn’t turn her head away but returned his kiss. Johann shivered. She tasted just as sweet as in his memories, of summer and of juicy grapes. His hand slowly slid up to her bonnet and pushed it back until her flaxen hair came loose.

“Johann, don’t,” she whispered.

The torch fell to the ground and died.

There was a soft hiss and a faint, almost imperceptible smell of sulfur in the air.

It was pitch black in the cave now. He hugged her tightly and covered her cheeks with kisses.

“No one will find us here, Margarethe! We’re inside the womb of Mother Earth, as safe and secure as in the womb of Mother Mary.”

“Mother Mary would never condone this—she was a virgin. She—”

Margarethe broke off and stopped fighting him. But instead of returning his kisses, she stepped back and stared at the opposite wall, where the rock altar stood.

“By all the saints!” she exclaimed.

Standing inside the cave, directly behind the altar, was an angel.

He was larger than life, with outstretched wings, and he wore a helmet and cuirass as if ready for the final battle. He carried a sword in his right hand. But his eyes weren’t grim like those of a soldier, no—the angel was smiling. His face showed a divine benevolence that was usually found only in depictions of Jesus Christ.

Margarethe stood as if she had turned to stone and become part of the cave—a pillar of dripstone. She didn’t say anything.

But then the angel spoke.

“Don’t be afraid!” he said in a whispering voice that seemed to come from all directions at once. The sound echoed repeatedly through the vaulted space.

“I’ve been sent from the heavens to praise your love. What God has joined together, let no church put asunder!”

The angel flickered a little, as if it was about to vanish into thin air and return to the heavens. He was almost translucent—an otherworldly creature. Now he lowered his sword in a blurred movement.

“God’s love is great and it shows in the love between men!” he continued. “The devil has no power when love prevails!”

Margarethe woke from her initial shock. She fell to her knees and prayed.

“Holy Michael, our archangel,” she whispered. “I thank you, I thank you . . .”

“The devil has no power when love prevails,” the angel repeated and raised his sword again. His voice was quieter now, and the apparition grew weaker, twitching and jerking like a candle in the wind.

“Love . . . prevails . . . Love . . . prevails . . .” echoed through